Pet
by Vacancy
Summary: This was largely inspired by a comment I heard from a whore in Bloodstone. : Reaver/FemaleSparrow, not for the faint of heart. Modified from 'He Can Have Me Whenever He Wants' The title was just too long


A/N: **I don't usually write lemons. Honest! **

**I just...couldn't help myself.**

**This story isn't for the faint of heart. It's going to be a few chapters of explicit sex. Do you think I'm lying? **

**I hope that i can write this with as much integrity as possible anyway, and wish you all to review. : ) remember, with that traffic thing I can tell who is reading and not telling me what they like/hate!**

**(This is modified from the scene where Sparrow returns from the Judging. It seems to fit Reavers' character to have a harlot in his bed, doesn't it? I also liked the name-thing. : D)**

Chapter One:

_A Bloody Evening _

"Adam! Adam!"

Angie the Whore _bisexual, unchaste, raunchy, flirt, romantic_ twisted the sheets in her small hands, so tightly when the man above her took them by the wrists, so hard she bruised, and held them above her head; the spirals looked like little mountains in the snowy white expanse of the bed.

Her curls, too ruddy to be golden and too brittle to shine, were splayed around her dirt-smudged face. They bounced as he pounded in and out of her, as did her breasts, which sortofkindof hurt but she didn't really mind. It was ten gold after all, and the beautiful man above her, that was payment enough. His sweat mingling with her own perspiration, and a sweet feeling that none of the gritty, nasty Bloodstone middle-classmen she usually fucked brought her.

She felt her climax, and wished she didn't. This was the third time, and ritualistically he only ever had her three times. _You have me all night. You can have me all night._

"_Adam_!" The release relaxed her muscles, made her face go slack with climax. He groaned once and pulled out of her, pushing away from the dirty whore in front of him. She just lay there for a moment, listening to him roll the condom off like always—sometimes she wished he forgot and got her pregnant. Then she had a reason to come back.

"Angie–-"_ likes: appearance: center-parted hair _"Sit up, please."

She did. Who was she to say no?

The slap was hard and quick, knocking her back onto the sweet, clean bedsheets. She blinked in shock, and knew that along with the bruises on her arms she would have a mark on her cheek. Her pimp would ask after that.

"My name is no longer Adam," he said calmly, evenly. "Now sit up again."

She did.

"I'm sorry, Reavah, sir, it's just I knew you as a kiddie, see, and I can't help but–"

The next strike shut her up better.

"I am not a child, Angie, and neither are you. Ten coins proves that, does it not?"

"Yes, Reavah," she said humbly, casting her eyes downward.

"If I don't find a better whore in Bloodstone, I'll have Artur pick you up the same time next Wednesday," he said, a clear dismissal. "I'm not likely to, you sluts are all the same."

The compliment, such as it was, left Angie _likes: place: bloodstone pier_ happy anyway.

A knock on Reavers door had him scowling heavily. "Make yourself decent," he fairly barked, and she did so quickly---a slut's clothes were made to be taken on and off easily. Reaver picked up his pistol, cocking it and mumbling "Second-rate butler doesn't understand the concept of _do not disturb_--"

He pulled open the door and leveled the pistol at Artur, the gray butler who stood before him. He looked vaguely startled by the gilded muzzle that threatened to end his life, but kept his composure.

"If this is not important enough," Reaver said in a light voice. "I am going to shoot you, right now." He paused, and waved the gun slightly. "Go on, start talking."

"Coincidentally," the butler rasped. "A lady by the name of Sparrow has a pistol pointed at the side of my head from downstairs. She asks for an audience. Are you amiable?"

Reaver laughed. Angie _likes: item: forever ring_ loved the sound.

"You amuse me. Alright, send her up."

The butler, seemingly unperturbed by Reavers' lack of clothing, turned and marched formally down the steps. After a few moments a lighter, quicker step ascended the stairs; and as Reaver tied the waistband of his embroidered trousers about his hips, she came to the doorway.

She was pretty in a strange, scarred way. The katana and rifle on her back were expensive, but not as much as Reavers beautiful agents of death. White hair grew long and luxurious over her shoulders, and coal-red eyes stared blankly out of large sockets. Clockwork tattoos ran up her legs, bared by amazingly short trousers, and over her face, which had an unhappily vacant expression. White, ridged scars latticed her neck and collarbone. Her shirt was classifiable only by what Angie _dislikes: item: cheap flowers_ could describe as a pauper-blouse.

Before Angie could stop herself, the words tumbled out of her mouth unbidden.

"Aren't you ah bit old tao be callin' yahself 'Sparrah'?"

Reaver turned, and wordlessly placed a bullet in Angie the Whores' _dislikes: region: bloodstone manor _unfortunate, curly-haired head.

**-x-**

"Shame, that," Reaver said, mouth twisting downwards in distaste. "She was a good whore. About the only one you can find around here."

"Such a shame," Sparrow said in a light, girlish voice—the voice didn't fit the battle-scarred, red-eyed figure. "You'll have to find other maidens to molest."

"Ah, yes, you're _married_, aren't you?" Reaver asked, eyes finding the Forever Ring on her fourth finger.

"Yes, and if you tried to force me I do think I could take you."

He chortled. "Married... What fool of a man would have you?"

"An intelligent one, with two children who are expecting me home," she replied curtly.

"Names?"

"Mary and Claire Sparrowsdaughter." The words seemed dragged forcibly from her mouth. "And before you say it, I'm married to Darren the Traveler."

"Traveler?" Reaver's aristocratic voice was amused. "My _my_, he'd be easy to kill."

"I'm flattered, Reaver, but I've come here for a reason."

"And that is?"

Sparrow's hand twisted a lock of white hair in her fingers. "This morning, I was a brunette."

"A lovely color of cinnamon. I recall. Are you here to complain to me about a bad stylist? Do you want her assasinated? You've grown petty..."

"No," Sparrow sounded like she was about to drop her formality. "I gave up my youth for this and these lovely red eyes."

"The glow _is_ rather eerie. What convinced you to do that?"

"The screaming woman standing beside me, begging for mercy."

"How noble!" Reaver exclaimed, delighted. "So you sacrificed your youth for a stranger?" His eyes narrowed slightly, as if noticing for the first time her lack of wrinkles or liver-spots. "Hm...you don't seem very aged to me."

"A friend of mine lessened the blow to hair and eye color," Sparrow replied curtly. "In any case, you have an end of a bargain to hold up."

He nodded. "Interesting you should say that. You know, I heard from someone that you recently escaped the Tattered Spire. It occurred to me that Lord Lucien would pay a pile of gold for your head on a platter. I was correct."

Her face drained of color.

"You didn't."

"I have a man about to deliver the letter to Lucien. I could hold you until he gets here, I think." The deliberate syllables of his strange accent fell into the horrified silence of Sparrow, her lips a thin white line. "If he does not hear from me by dawn, he delivers the message. So killing me is useless."

"I could torture his location out of you," she said, words aflame with lack of conviction. He gave an aristocratic chortle.

"Rather not. You see, I just killed my favorite harlot."

If possible, she grew paler. "_I'm not going to be your sick slave, Reaver_."

"I don't think you have a choice. I'm not going to be _cooperating_ with you should Luciens' cronies pop up, and all alone, in my house, with a hundred trained men pouring into my sitting room...do you really think you can triumph? Besides, _slave_ is such a harsh word."

"What word would be _better_?" she said, spitting each syllable.

He laughed. "Pet."

**: )**

**Do you like it?**

**I just adore Reavers character. A self-centered arrogant rich man forced to do good. Only in this fic...he doesn't.**

**;D**

**-Vacancy**


End file.
